


take me to the place where dreams are born

by RockNoir



Category: Epic Mickey (Video Games)
Genre: Bittersweet, It’s so short I’m sorry, oswald tries to be a voice of reason, technically it’s NOT reincarnation, toon walt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-12 05:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21228908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockNoir/pseuds/RockNoir
Summary: Mickey misses his creator.With a bit of magic ink and paint, he figures he could bring him back. If only for a day.





	take me to the place where dreams are born

**Author's Note:**

> un beta’d un edited sorry for any mistakes

Wasteland had been unusually quite all morning, Oswald thought, hopping down Main Street toward the train station. Even the bunny children had been scarce since they’d all left the house early that morning. And Mickey was nowhere to be found. When Oswald woke that morning, Ortensia had informed him that the mouse had gone for a walk to clear his head after a restless night.

No one had seen him since. Not even the bunny children, who had always swarmed Mickey in his occasional visits to wasteland. This visit, however, had been unusually quiet for Mickey. He’d dropped in last second, not that Oswald minded, and has spent most of his time quietly following the rabbit through the days.

Their conversation from the night before had struck something in Oswald, and lingered in his brain.

They had sat in front of the re-created Partners statue, mindlessly chatting about nothing, though Oswald knew something had been pressing Mickey for days.

“Spill,” Oswald had ordered, “What’s bothering you. And don’t say nothing, because it’s super obvious that you’re bothered about something.”

Mickey had sighed, looking over the statue before them with solemn eyes. “Do you ever just...miss him?”

Of course, Mickey had been talking about their creator. And it occurred to Oswald that Mickey had come to wasteland to do some grieving of some sort. It unsettled Oswald to know his brother was hurting, but he was also content with the fact that Mickey felt like Oswald’s home was somewhere safe he could come to let his emotions out. He didn’t have to put on a happy face for everyone here.

“I do, sometimes,” Oswald admitted. “But my parting from him was a lot longer ago than yours. You knew him a lot better than I did. I can’t imagine how much more that must hurt.”

Then they were quiet for a while. Only a short while.

“Oswald?”

“Yeah, Mick?”

“You know how my paintbrush is magic, and with the right ink we can bring things to life?”

“Mickey, that’s not a good idea—“

“I know, I just...what if? It’s like we could have him back, but he’d be a toon, just like us, and he won’t...you know. He won’t leave us.”

Oswald has thought about it before. Many times. But he knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. Recreating things that already existed always ended up as a mess, which is why Wasteland was similar to Disneyland, but not exactly the same.

“It won’t be the same, Mickey. Believe me. He’d be a toon without a heart, and he’d be stuck here forever. Even if he could leave, taking him to your world would cause chaos. Plus, there’s a good chance he might not have the same memories or remember anything. It would be like starting all over.”

Mickey had only nodded in understanding, blinking away the wet sheen in his eyes.

That was the last that Oswald had seen of him.

And now, here Oswald was, in search of the mouse. For some reason, he had an inkling of a feeling that the mouse was in the office at the very top of the train station. It was one of Mickey’s favorite places, and he’d once commented that the windows let in the perfect amount of light for drawing—

Oswald knew exactly what Mickey was up to. And he had a rather long flight of stairs to climb if he wanted to put an end to it soon. With a sigh, he picked up his pace, jogging toward the station.

Mickey’s determination was impressive. And he was certainly quite the artist. 

“Mickey.”

The mouse cringed away, refusing to look at Oswald, instead keeping his eyes trained on the sketch of the large piece of paper he’d spread out across the floor. His paintbrush was in his hand, loaded with magic ink, ready to start the lining that would eventually bring the drawing to life.

“Mickey, remember what we said last night?” Oswald says, tone borderline disapproving. “That won’t bring him back. Not the way you want him.”

“I know, Oswald. I know...but please...just for one day.”

“What do you mean just for one day? Mickey...You can’t just dip him in thinner when you’re done with him.”

“No, I would never!” Mickey holds up his brush, “It’s disappearing ink! For temporary things!”

“How—“

“The right mix of paint and thinner, and a little bit of magic. It’ll be gone by the end of the night with no trace, and it won’t hurt anyone or anything. I promise.”

Oswald still doesn’t look happy, but he knows Mickey won’t give up on this. Not soon. “Just this once, okay? And only here.“

“Thank you, Oswald. I knew you’d understand.”

“One more thing!”

Mickey looks at his brother expectantly, paintbrush at the ready.

“Remember, don’t tell him anything that might confuse him. It might ruin everything, and you wouldn’t want him to be having a crisis the entire evening, would you?”

“No.” Mickey looks between the brush and the sketch on the paper. “I promise. Thank you, Oswald.”

Oswald waves him off, taking a seat in one of the chairs to watch Mickey get to work.

It takes longer than it should have, but Mickey was being a perfectionist. He wanted the image to be absolutely perfect. By the time he drew the final line, several hours had already passed.

With one final wave of the paintbrush, like one would wave a wand, Mickey wills the image to come to life. At the last second, though, he turns away, a little anxious and afraid, yet excited, of what was to come next.

There’s the sound of someone clearing their throat, and Mickey’s greeted by the sight of a man sitting on the floor, touching his own arms as if waking from a dream to assure his own existence. The new toon’s dressed in a simple outfit, blue sweater vest over a while shirt with the sleeves cuffed. Gray pants. As simplistic yet stylistic as Mickey opted to be. Comfortable. 

“I’m sorry,” the man said, in a voice Mickey knew all too well. “I seem to have fallen asleep. How rude of me.” Mickey approaches him slowly as he stands, awe plastered on his face.

Oswald can only watch from the corner of the room, nervous.

The man smiles down at Mickey as he steps closer.

“And who might you be, my little friend?” The man crouches, to be closer to Mickey’s level.

“I-I’m Mickey,” the little mouse stutters out, shyly reaching a hand out to be shaken in greeting.

“Mickey? That’s a rather nice name.” He takes Mickey’s hand in his own, giving it a gentle shake. “I’m Walter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Mickey can’t help it. He launches himself forward, pulling Walt in to the tightest hug his small arms can manage. It catches the man by surprise, but he puts his arms around Mickey as well, giving the mouse a comforting pat on the back.

“So you’re a hugger,” Walt says with a small chuckle. The sound almost brings Mickey to tears, and he has to blink them away before they have to chance to spill. Through it all, Oswald remains silent and off to the side, not wanting to intrude on such a tender moment for his brother.

“Say, Mickey, you wouldn’t happen to know how I got here, would you?” Walt asks, setting the mouse on the floor and looking around the room as he moves toward the doors. “It’s like I was in a deep sleep, but I don’t remember falling asleep. Only waking up, and I was...I was here...” He nearly loses his train of thought when he spots the castle at the other end of Main Street from the train station’s windows, and he’s intrigued, as if the sight of it alone has awakened something in his brain. “I feel like I might know this place.”

“Walt!” Oswald calls out. “Wait! Don’t just go running—“

He’s already out the doors, down the stairs and standing in the hub of Main Street when Mickey and Oswald catch up to him. He turns around to face the two smaller toons as they approach. “This place is wonderful!”

“And it’s also full of a few hundred rambunctious rabbits. And their favorite game to play with new people is to toss them in the nearest river,” Oswald says, slightly scolding, “don’t let their cute little faces and soft ears distract you.”

“Don’t mind Oswald,” Mickey says, giving his brother a nudge. “This place is great! We call it Wasteland, even though it’s not really a wasteland. Not anymore, at least. This is Oswald’s home!”

“It looks lovely to me, Oswald,” Walt compliments, giving the rabbit a soft pat between the ears.

The horn of the train nearing the station during it’s evening run catches their attention, and Oswald can already see the train’s carrying a swarm of little blue bunnies, a few of them are nearly spilling out of the window of the conductor’s cabin. 

“Mickey, why don’t you take Walt to visit the Clock Tower? I’m sure he’d love to meet a new friend and chat,” Oswald suggests.

“Are you sure?” Mickey asks lowly, so only Oswald can hear. “Don’t you want to come with us? Don’t you want to spend some time with—“

“I’ll keep the kids out of your hair.”

“But—“

“Go, Mickey. Look,” Oswald motions toward the landscape down the street before them. “The sun is already starting to set. You have less than a day. I’ll be fine.”

Mickey attacks his brother in a tight hug, giving him a good squeeze and whispering his thanks before running over to catch up to Walt, who’s already began to walk down the street. The man surprises them both by scooping the mouse in to his arm and setting him on his shoulder, as if it were normal. 

Oswald watches them as they stroll down Main Street. It just looked right. Like they’d always been friends and didn’t just meet moments ago. Oswald only catches a small sliver of their conversation, but let’s them be.

“You know, Mickey. You seem mighty familiar. Like I’m meeting an old friend.”

“Well...” Mickey figures there’s no harm in telling him the truth. He seemed to be handling the whole thing so well, anyways. “You see, Walter...you and I are pals...”

**Author's Note:**

> bruh


End file.
